When Caroline was still just a wee little baby, who held my heart in the palm of her tiny, tiny hand, I started playing a game with her every time I placed her on the changing table. I would say, “How many kisses am I going to give Caroline? Oooone? Twoooo? Nope. A MILLION. A MILLION!!” And I’d kiss her little cheeks and her hands and her round tummy. She’d giggle and squeal and just melt my heart a little bit more.
Eventually, she outgrew the changing table and, thankfully, became potty-trained. We don’t have the opportunity to play our little game 6 or 18 times a day like we used to but, every now and then, she’ll come plop herself in my lap and say, “Give me a million kisses, Mama!”
So I stop whatever I’m doing to take advantage of this sweet, fleeting moment in time, and I listen to her giggle and squeal and my heart melts all over again.
A day will come when I’ll be lucky to get even one kiss so, for now, I’ll take the million anytime I can get them.